


In the Morning and Amazing

by deathwailart



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Lazy Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slow, lazy morning sex at Beorn's home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Morning and Amazing

Bedding down at Beorn's is different to bedding down in his nice cosy hobbit hole but it's the most comfortable Bilbo's been since the soft beds of Rivendell where he can eat honey and clotted cream and relax for a time, everyone recovering from their ordeals. Kíli is often off fletching arrows or simply being rambunctious with his brother and Ori – Bilbo forgets that to dwarves, they're young and that this is their first big adventure though he suspects that they're doing some weapons training because Ori hasn't handed back a hammer Bilbo distinctly recalls as belonging to Dwalin. You don't forget who holds what deadly weapon when they're suddenly invading your home and eating your dinner. Not that there's a worry about food here. There's no meat on the table but what there is is plentiful and everyone's looking healthier than they have in a while, scrubbed clean, clothes mended, putting on the weight they lost to the road. He wonders what time it is and what they'd be doing back in the Shire about now. If he lifts his head to squint out the window he can make out thick white clouds tinged with orange and pink, faint traces of blue appearing so he assumes it's still early. Far too early for respectable hobbits to be awake so he yawns and makes himself more comfortable though mindful of who he's lying next to. Quite a new thing, really, to wake up pressed hip to shoulder (more or less) with someone or with a muscled arm or heavy leg slung over your waist or hip but he's not complaining. He's growing rather accustomed to it even if he still has to mind Thorin's healing wounds – it's worse inside than outside, that's how it goes and it's true here if the way Thorin clenches his jaw at the end of the day to hide a wince is anything to go by.  
  
Bilbo yawns again and rolls onto his side instead of his stomach, resting his head on Thorin's shoulder.  
  
"Master Baggins." Thorin's voice is rough, laced with sleep and he only half opens one eye to look at Bilbo.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Bilbo apologises, going still even as Thorin rolls over onto his side (that makes Bilbo flinch, even though he knows very well how much Thorin's healed and how hardy dwarves are compared with hobbits) to face him.  
  
"I'm used to rising early, surprised I haven't heard my nephews clattering around already."  
  
Bilbo laughs quietly, shaking his head. "No, I think it's safe to say it's going to be a nice, quiet morning by all accounts."  
  
"You mean until breakfast."  
  
Bilbo simply gives him a look. Table manners and how to show a host the proper appreciation are an area they will have to agree to disagree on it would seem. Secretly, he likes it though the Baggins side of him always worries for those poor dishes being thrown and banged at every available moment.  
  
"These might be our last mornings to sleep late, we should make the most of it," Thorin rumbles when Bilbo had honestly thought he'd simply fallen asleep again.  
  
"I couldn't agree more," he replies and gives Thorin a push so that the dwarf lies on his back, Bilbo the one to lie half on top of him, one of Thorin's arms curling over his back, rubbing circles until Bilbo can't quite keep his eyes open. "I think I'll miss this, these quiet moments."  
  
"There'll be more to come." Sometimes it astounds Bilbo that Thorin can sound so sure of his quest at any moment and it also strikes him as rather sad that he has to believe at every moment of every day (that Bilbo or any others can see, kings cannot have doubt in front of those they are meant to inspire, he supposes) that they'll succeed in what is a seemingly impossible task. Bilbo still firmly believes that surely the worst of the physical journey itself must be over – forests do not sound nearly so horrible as climbing treacherous mountains, clinging to ledges with awful stone giants having a thunder battle and then there was his own journey, riddles with that terrible creature. (Still, he doesn't regret showing mercy even if he knows that all the dwarves here would think him incredibly soft if they knew he had spared the life of something that wished very much to gobble him up. He doesn't think he'd be able to explain how the look in the creature's eyes stirred up an immense well of pity that surprised him.)  
  
"Best not sleep too late," Bilbo murmurs, eyes already closed, "Dwalin will polish off all the crumpets without us." He falls asleep feeling rather than hearing Thorin's quiet laughter.  
  
When Bilbo wakes again it's to Thorin shaking him (gently, the way he does his nephews when it's time to wake them to break camp or take watch, not the way he shakes say Dwalin or Nori awake for their turns) and reminding him about how breakfast will be soon and yes, Bilbo's stomach growls but he's so comfortable like this and was in the midst of a rather pleasant dream that had very little to do with food whatsoever, half-hard and he makes a noise of complaint.  
  
"I thought you didn't-" Bilbo moves, presses against Thorin's hip and that shuts him up. Bilbo's glad the dwarf can't see his smug, sleepy smirk. "Don't complain if there's no breakfast then when we finally make a move."  
  
"There's always elevenses. I said I would teach you all about how hobbits prefer to take their meals didn't I?"  
  
"That you did."  
  
"Are you," Bilbo flounders for a moment, thinking of what might be the right word what with the differences between dwarves and hobbits, "agreeable?" He finally settles for that, hoping it doesn't sound silly.  
  
Thorin's response is to shift under Bilbo so that Bilbo can feel an answering hardness against his stomach. "You could say that," he adds when Bilbo tries to thrust against him, strong hands on his hips to hold him still as Thorin rolls them over so Bilbo's on his back amidst the mess of blankets they're using as a bed. Bilbo can't wait for them to be able to do this in a bed, fluffy pillows and a nice soft mattress, without having to worry about who'll hear them or who might come barging in because there will be a door (Bilbo has had thoughts about this door, a good sturdy one, with a good solid lock and how he wouldn't mind being pressed against it or, more frequently, that he'd like to be the one doing the pressing) and then they can take their time with everything. As fond as he is of how frantic they've had to be – maybe because once you're out of your tweens you're meant to be a bit more civilised and go slow and take the time to really savour it the way a hobbit savours everything they enjoy – with the scrabbling at clothes and wondering just how much they actually have to undress, he'd like to be able to be slow about it. To peel Thorin out of all his heavy furs and shirts and trousers and just run his hands over every inch of him, mapping out all the scars and calluses and signs of a hard life. The most they've seen of each other naked has been bathing and that was mostly before things changed between them, before admissions were made and then enquiries made and perhaps it was wrong of Bilbo to be so pleasantly surprised by how gentle Thorin was.  
  
As it was though, Bilbo ended up being the aggressive one, saying that he'd seen off whatever was in that cave and a great huge stinking mass of warg and that he didn't need to be treated like a fine teacup (West Farthing pottery teacup at that.)  
  
Perhaps today, this morning with still fairly early by hobbit standards morning light peeking through the window, the world warm and soft, things will be a bit more leisurely. Thorin's hands skim up Bilbo's back, pulling the shirt he sleeps in with it until Bilbo has to raise his arms to let it be hauled off, distracting him from where he's been unlacing Thorin's shirt, slow and meandering, plucking at the ties. Bilbo can ignore what his body wants for the moment when he's able to sit up just so and tug Thorin down for a kiss, fingers in his hair, no braids at the moment. It's been a long time since Bilbo was kissed like this, toes curling and oh he could quite happily do this forever, especially when Thorin nips at his bottom lip but he has to breathe and when they pull apart, he's pleased to notice the flush on Thorin's cheeks.  
  
"Off," he says, tugging at the shirt.  
  
"Very demanding today, Master Baggins." And that shouldn't send a buzz of excitement down his spine to be called that – they all call him that, it's a polite sort of thing to do – but the way Thorin's looking at him, it just does. Bilbo doesn't say anything and instead helps how he can in getting the shirt off, tossing it to one side along with his. Thorin leans down to kiss him this time, just as leisurely as before and Bilbo wants a lifetime of these moments for the day when it inevitably ends, when Thorin is king under the mountain and Bilbo is nestled back with his books and his fireplace because this isn't like the tales where people run off to other lands. Bilbo will always love the Shire and Thorin has only ever wanted his home again, for his people to be where they should be and to not live the lives of exiles. But for now, this is more than he imagined and enough, more than enough. To have Thorin above him (and sometimes beneath but always beside him) and kissing him with those strong hands that wield sword and axe and can fold steel and make weapons and beautiful things on his hips, the press of his thumbs right above the waistband of Bilbo's trousers, clothed cocks rubbing against each other when one of them arches into the other.  
  
It's Bilbo who lets his own fingers wander down Thorin's body (he probably won't get used to how hairy he is everywhere other than his feet, it's just too bizarre by Bilbo's reckoning, not that he finds it distasteful, it's simply something so very different to anyone in the Shire) to the laces of his trousers. A burglar is meant to have the cleverest of fingers, Nori helpfully explained one night at camp even as Bilbo protested that he wasn't a burglar at all. Still, it's in the contract and clever fingers come with practice. Thorin breaks the kiss, forehead against Bilbo's as he moans, pressing his hips into his hand which makes it more difficult because Bilbo's not actually able to see what his hand's doing and he needs some room to undo the bindings but he gets there in the end, opening them up just enough to slip his hand inside, rubbing the back of his knuckles along Thorin's length.  
  
"Bilbo," Thorin warns and when Bilbo looks he can see how he's holding himself still so he takes pity on him, wrapping his hand around his length, making sure his grip is firm and Thorin groans, eyes closing as he thrusts into Bilbo's hand. He lets him, free hand curling around Thorin's hip, finding a rhythm that isn't too fast because he wants to drag this out, wants to make it last – enough so that he can ignore his own arousal, watching the way Thorin's brows draw together and how he bites his lip so hard it must hurt, almost to the point of drawing blood.  
  
One of Thorin's hands clamps around Bilbo's wrist, stopping him and Bilbo looks up at him questioningly. It takes Thorin a good long moment to seemingly recover his wits so he can speak and Bilbo feels himself starting to smile – it might go to his head one day, being able to render Thorin Oakenshield speechless so easily. "Enough of that," Thorin says but his voice isn't nearly as commanding as he probably thinks it is, not when it's hoarse from holding back moans because even though no one would probably mind (and because they've probably already heard, despite their best efforts) the rest of the company don't need to hear what Thorin and Bilbo are up to while they're probably having breakfast. (Except they must already suspect seeing as no one's bothered to shout up to them yet. Maybe they'll be good enough to set something aside. It might be nice to just eat up here and have a lazy day although the chances of that aren't very high – Thorin will want to discuss things with Balin and Dwalin and Gandalf and Bilbo will go through more lessons in how to use his letter opener.)  
  
Thorin's unbuttoning Bilbo's trousers when his mind wanders back to the here and now so he helpfully lifts his hips to help, letting Thorin get them down to his knees where he carefully kicks his way out of them so he's lying back naked, flush spreading down his chest, looking up at Thorin who's still in his trousers. It's obscene, the way his cock is peeking out, hard and leaking and Bilbo wants to do something about that but Thorin's moving, kissing down his chest, biting his nipples just this side of hurting then soothing them with his tongue and Bilbo thinks he gets it now and lies back, one hand clenching in the blankets beneath him and the other tangled in Thorin's hair. Thorin makes his way down his chest and belly with nips and kisses, hands doing the same on his side and he gives Bilbo a grin once he's between his thighs that looks disturbingly like the smiles he sees on Fíli and Kíli's faces whenever they're up to mischief (perhaps when Thorin was that young and carefree he had the same smile but that thought is pushed aside.)  
  
"Don't tease," Bilbo commands, using his most serious tone, brows raised. "I mean it."  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it Master Baggins."  
  
"You need to stop calling- oh!" Whatever Bilbo was going to say gets lost in a quiet moan as Thorin's mouth wraps around his cock, sliding down and all Bilbo can think about then is the wet heat and pressure, both hands in Thorin's hair now as he bobs his head and does _something_ with his tongue that makes Bilbo's breath catch in his throat, his hips bucking wildly until one strong arm presses them down, holding them in place and oh he's probably babbling but he doesn't care. Especially not when Thorin swallows around him like that, beard scratching at his thighs and Bilbo can barely keep quiet, unsure if he wants to look down and watch, to run one hand against Thorin's hollowed cheeks or if he wants to just lie back, eyes on the ceiling and enjoy how it feels (and sounds, oh how it sounds.) Heat is pooling low in his belly and he's so hard now, so close so he tries to find his words. "Thorin, I'm-" It ends in a disappointing moan when Thorin stops what he's doing, mouth no longer on Bilbo's cock. Thorin even has the gall to move, shoving his trousers down and off with one brisk motion as he heads to his pack, rummaging around and Bilbo's left lying there, getting his breath back, up on his elbows to watch. There's a small jar in Thorin's hand when he returns and Bilbo knows why and grins, letting his thighs fall further apart to allow Thorin to settle between them on his knees, the jar open. It's too much to watch so Bilbo lets his eyes close, concentrating on relaxing when one finger breaches him, slick with whatever's in the jar (from the smell of it, he'd guess blade oil, he's been familiar with it from the first night they made camp and everyone checked all their weapons and armour, a ritual they perform every time they make camp and again before they begin for the day and he's wondered but never asked about it), and then another. They've done this before and the first time Thorin was so careful and he was beneath Bilbo, letting the hobbit control the situation and Bilbo rode him, hands on Thorin's chest, Thorin's hands on his hips to steady him and he came without being touched. This part is always slow – Thorin has large fingers but Bilbo's always enjoyed this and he just breathes deeply, gasping quietly and reassuring Thorin that yes, he's fine, more than fine, wonderful, can he please move, oh please do that again, right _there_.  
  
Thorin hands the jar to him as he pulls his fingers out carefully and yes, it's blade oil that Bilbo's pouring into the palm of his hand, holding it there a moment to warm it before coating Thorin's cock with it, enjoying the shudder it gains him. He doesn't linger – not now, he wants the act to last and it'd be cruel to work Thorin up now when he's already been hard for so long. Or maybe it hasn't been that long, Bilbo's a bit hazy on time because the only word he can think to describe this is languid. They're definitely doing this in a bed, all the way through the night into the morning.  
  
"Any preference?" Thorin asks, pulling Bilbo's hand away and recapping the jar, setting it alongside their abandoned shirts. Bilbo debates for a moment then rolls over onto his stomach, stretching out, cock brushing against the blankets. In no time at all Thorin's body is over his, lining up and then there's a long, slow burn that Thorin eases him through, rubbing his side as Bilbo breathes slowly, reminding himself to relax, moaning because he can't stay quiet until Thorin's flush against him. They lie there for a while, Bilbo adjusting, gasping until he nods. Thorin draws back slowly, pressing in carefully, holding himself up with one arm and Bilbo reaches out, slides his own under and their fingers tangle together when Thorin starts to move, rolling his hips. The pace is slow and steady, exactly what Bilbo wants as he pushes back to meet Thorin's thrusts, the dwarf's other hand around his cock, matching his rhythm, thumbing the head, groaning when it makes Bilbo tighten around him. Bilbo feels it, Thorin's chest being flush against his back and he lets out a soft sound close to a contented sigh – it's normally Bilbo who is the demanding one, who can't keep still, who moves his hips harder and faster or hooks his legs around Thorin's waist to urge him on but this is what he wanted. To have lazy morning sex the way he hasn't in far too long, Thorin's cock deep inside him and with a change in angle, pressing against that spot that makes him choke out a curse (not very hobbit-like at all) with each steady thrust and Bilbo wonders how he does it. Then he remembers that Thorin is a smith and something about striking steel half a hundred times in the same place.  
  
Which he says aloud if the chuckle is anything to go by but Thorin at least seems to understand because he moves faster, grip tightening on Bilbo's cock and soon Bilbo's coming, muscles tightening around Thorin's cock and the dwarf's rhythm falters before he comes too, biting down on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo doesn't know if he wants to press back against Thorin or into his hand as hips move frantically as he rides out his orgasm, breathless and laughing, he realises. He'd thought sex with Thorin would be hot and heavy (and it is and he loves it) but somehow serious too. Maybe it was the stern demeanour or how little Thorin smiles – although it just makes those rare smiles all the more special really – but he's glad to be wrong, glad that they laugh and joke and sometimes call each other rude names when the other one is going too slow or purposefully misunderstanding what the other wants. Bilbo moves with Thorin when he pulls out, rolling onto his back as they lie side by side, chests heaving like bellows, sweat cooling on their skin. It takes an enormous amount of effort to move the short distance to kiss Thorin and it's just a brush of lips really, both of them too lazy to actually put any intent into the gesture and Bilbo flops back, enjoying all the little aftershocks.  
  
He falls asleep again and wakes to Thorin giving him a nudge with one foot, hands occupied with a tray of fruits, bread and honey and jams and hot tea. They should clean up, dress, make themselves presentable – Thorin's hair is still unbraided, Bilbo doesn't even want to think about how his own curls must look but he imagines bird's nest is a very good description – but instead he sits up to make room for Thorin and reaches for the crumpets and jam.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from In the Morning and Amazing by Circa Survive


End file.
